Kim Ho-jin — no, Zaylknork — sat frozen on the cold stone bed.
The weight of a thousand stupid plotlines crashed into his head all at once.
No. No way. No freaking way.
He'd actually been isekai'd… into the most cringe-inducing, melodramatic villain of all time.
The one whose death he just read about.
He ran his hands through his hair, clutching at the silky black strands like they were the last threads of sanity.
He had wine in his lungs, blood sacrifices in his basement, and a cult that cried whenever he raised a single finger.
"Why… why this story?" he rasped. "I was just sipping cheap Merlot and arguing with fictional idiots. How did I—"
He slammed a fist against the stone wall. I just wanted to go to a damn soccer game with my son! Is that too much to ask?!
The cultists huddled by the door jumped, eyes wide.
"Out," he snapped.
"Master?"
"OUT!"
The room emptied faster than a company firing notice.
Robes flapped, footsteps scrambled, someone tripped and even screamed, "I didn't mean to steal your shampoo, Master!"
Just get out....
He was finally left alone.
Only his ragged breathing echoed now.
Ho-jin—or whatever demonic bastard he was supposed to be—pressed his palms to his face. His heartbeat pounded in his skull.
He needed to think.
He needed air.
He needed therapy.
"Okay," he muttered, pacing in circles.
"Think, Kim Ho-jin, think. You died choking on boxed wine and woke up inside a fantasy novel written by an unpaid intern with too much time and zero taste."
He glanced up at the cracked ceiling.
"God? Goddess? System? Whoever you are—undo this cosmic joke! I swear I'll start jogging again!"
When no one replied, he slumped to the ground.
Usually, in those transmigrated webnovels, the main character always had some sort of cheat codes, systems, divine powers, or even a god by their side.
Except he wasn't the main character.
And Zaylknork has always been known as a tyrant demon lord that was banished from the demon realm with half his powers sealed.
This... this is bad.
He exhaled, dragging a hand down his face.
Alright. If this was real, then maybe there was a way out. A loophole. A bug in the narrative.
If he could figure out how the story worked, he could escape—go back, fix things and eventually see his son.
He wasn't dying a second time. Not in some dumb villain's body.
His breath steadied. His shoulders squared.
For now, he had to play along.
He cleared his throat, forcing what he hoped was a menacing yet composed tone.
"You can come inside now.... Minions?"
The door creaked open, and two terrified faces peeked through the gap.
"Yes, Master Zaylknork?" Minion 1 said with a shaky voice.
"Release the woman's son," he commanded.
What?
Every cultist that had been eavesdropping to his little outburst froze mid-breath.
Even the woman, still kneeling at the corner, looked up in disbelief.
"R-release him?" one stammered.
"Yes," Zaylknork deadpanned. "The child. Let him go."
Minion Two gasped, tears spilling down his face. "B-but, Master! How will you defeat the Hero if there are no sacrifices?!"
Ho-jin felt the scream claw its way up his throat. But he bit it back.
Deep breath. He inhaled.
Be calm. He exhaled through his nose.
Maintain that villainous composure.
"Just release the child," he said through his teeth, "and… let me be for now."
Minion One hesitated, glancing at the others as if to confirm whether this was another of their lord's "divine mind games."
Then they both dropped to their knees, sobbing louder than before.
"Master's compassion is terrifying!"
"Truly, your cruelty has ascended to mercy itself!"
"JUST GO!"
They ran, shuffling around one another out of his chambers, to release the woman's son.
Zaylknork slumped back again, against his stone chair, staring up at the ceiling.
It was official. He was trapped in the world's dumbest novel.
And he was its final boss
Okay, think. What should I do in situations like this? Lay low? Escalate stuffs or just don't do anything at all?
What chapter did this event happen? Argh, some herbal tea could cure my headache, right now. He gently rubbed his temples, groaning loudly.
However, the little peace didn't last long.
The heavy doors burst open again, slamming against the stone wall with enough force to chip a corner.
A scrawny cultist with messy hair and trembling hands stumbled in, panting like he'd outrun his own guilt.
"Master Zaylknork!" he wheezed. "The Hero's letter... you have yet to—haa— you have yet to open it."
Zaylknork's eye twitched. Again with this 'Hero.' Even while reading this novel, I never once paid attention to this hero. But... urghhhh.
The minion darted forward, clutching a scroll tied with obnoxiously golden string and sealed with enough wax to build a candle shop. He presented it with both hands, bowing so hard his forehead scraped stone.
"My Lord, it's from the Hero Javander himself!"
Zaylknork waryinly took the scroll. He unrolled it, eyes scanning the childish loops of handwriting.
"To the vile tyrant of crimson blood—prepare thyself, for justice cometh! On the night of the Blood Moon, I shall descend upon thy foul tower and purge thy sins in holy flame!"
He blinked twice, having second thoughts on the whole charade.
Is the writer dumb?!
"What the hell is this Shakespearean fanfiction?" he muttered. "Who writes like this?"
The minion perked up. "Is it a challenge to your greatness, Master?"
"It's a teenager trying too hard," Zaylknork said. "I'm not wasting energy fighting a bunch of hormonal kids with swords. Even my son is well behaved than this and he's 13!"
The cultist's eyes widened, sparks twinkling and dancing in his eyes.
He gasped. "You mean—Master has chosen not to waste energy because he will destroy them all under the Blood Moon?!"
"What? No—"
The minion shot up in lightning speed. "HE HAS SPOKEN! HE SHALL BATHE IN HERO'S BLOOD!"
Zaylknork pinched the bridge of his nose. "That's not what I—"
Another cultist burst through the door, screaming, "Prepare the blood bath!"
"Order some wine!" someone yelled from the hallway.
"We can't! We haven't paid the taxes!"
A silence followed. Then another voice hissed, "HOW DARE YOU QUESTION MASTER'S WEALTH?!"
"I—I wasn't questioning! I just meant the treasury's empty!"
"THEN WE SHALL SELL THE WEAK!"
Zaylknork rubbed his temples, feeling his soul leave his body. "Sell the weak?! No don't do that! I swear to god, this is why the villain never wins... Stop! Stop! All of you?"
But the chaos outside grew louder—footsteps, chants, a crash that sounded suspiciously like a wine barrel rolling down stairs.
He sank onto the stone chair again, staring blankly ahead as his brain spiraled.
So… Blood Moon. The letter. The hysterical servants.
Wait.
Wait, wait, wait.
If the Blood Moon event was already mentioned, that meant—
His stomach dropped.
He was at the end of the middle arc.
And if his memory served right, in exactly thirty days, everything in this stupid tower—his tower—would go to hell. The Hero's raid, the betrayal, the blood rain, the dramatic speeches—
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me…" he whispered, clutching his face.
Outside, the cultists cheered, chanting his name like a battle hymn.
Inside, Zaylknork sat slumped in his throne, contemplating how to fake his own death before the plot did it for him.
He exhaled, long and shaky. Then, slowly, a spark flickered in his eyes.
"What if…"
He leaned forward, voice low, conspiratorial—like a man pitching a get-rich-quick scheme to himself.
"What if I just… quit?"
His reflection in the cracked goblet stared back, unimpressed.
"No, really! If I'm no longer the villain, the hero won't need to kill me, right? Logical! He can't slay what doesn't exist. I'll just—retire"
He started pacing, muttering faster. "I'll fake my death, move to the countryside, open a little vineyard… grow some grapes, get drunk in peace. Maybe finally adopt a goat."
His hand clenched dramatically. "Yes. I'll retire from being a villain! No more blood rituals, no more screaming disciples, no more tax problems! I'll live quietly, away from heroes, swords, and fanfiction logic!"
But then he stopped talking, staring at himself in terror. His shoulders stiff as his face drained of color.
Gross. Why do I talk like that?